


That is not the man she knows.

by millygal



Series: Fanfic Wish List [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Introspection, Masturbation, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 00:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Donna's already breaking out in hives at the thought of bending a rule.





	That is not the man she knows.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaughableLament](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/gifts).



> Thank you to miss jj1564, who continues to blow my socks off for her understanding and beta abilities. This is for laughablelament for her #5 Prompt on her Fanfic Meme Wishlist.
> 
> Donna(/Dean?) - she reads his jacket/criminal history
> 
> Dunno if this is what you had in mind, but it was in mine :DDD

Shoving her keys in the lock and letting her head rest on cool wood panelling, Donna takes a moment to just **be**.

Listening to her key-chain thump methodically against the door, she blows out a frustrated breath and straightens. “Come on, Donna, stop stalling.”

Twisting her keys and shunting forwards, Donna surveys the inside of her quite frankly dismal looking apartment before dropping her briefcase against the wall. “Hot diggity, that was a long day.”

Stepping inside, flicking the black brogues from her feet, Donna almost purrs at the freedom to wiggle her toes without feeling like she’s shaving off layers of bone. “Those things are evil. Whoever designed them needs a visit from a monster.”

She instantly feels guilty at wishing a good old fashioned monstering on some unknown soul who is probably _not_ responsible for the sheer agony that her shoes create, and finds herself snorting at her own idiocy. “Not their fault my feet are a bit squishy, is it? I mean they’re regulation, we all have to wear them and - good lord, now I’m properly talking to myself. Donna Hanscum, you need a life in the worst way.”

At the back of her mind - where her deepest fears and silliest wishes reside - Donna can _see_ Jody raising an eyebrow at her before stepping over and slapping her upside the head for being so mean about herself.

Snarky and sharp she may be, but Sheriff Jody Mills is one of the best friends Donna’s ever had, and she appreciates the way in which the older women never lets her think badly of herself. You just have to wade through the acerbic sense of humour and deadpan stare, two qualities that have probably scared the holy heck out of many a deputy over the years.

Shedding her black dress pants and starched uniform shirt, Donna stands in her bra and panties and waggles her ass, shaking off the day’s buttoned down frustrations.

Discarding clothing as she walks, Donna visualises the warm spray of her shower soaking away the knots in her shoulders and berates herself for being such a messy so-and-so.

*******

Clean and fresh and damp, Donna enjoys the crispness of the air hitting her still wet shoulders as she wraps a towel tightly around herself.

Taking a minute to relax into her evening, she thinks perhaps it’s time to scale back her hours.

Donna’s proud to wear the badge, it means a responsibility to her town and those people in it, but there are only so many fourteen hour days a person can take. Who knew being such a strong, confident woman took such effort?

Sliding onto the couch, enjoying the feel of cool leather against hot skin, Donna allows her eyes to flick sideways where her works’ briefcase sits resting against the entrance way wall. “It’s just research.”

She’s never done anything like this before, and she’s already coming out in hives at the thought of breaking any kind of rule, let alone that of _never_ bringing classified files home from the office, but, what else was she to do? When the folder pinged into her inbox at the station how was she meant to resist?

**Case File 109834 - Winchester, Dean.**

She’s fully aware that she may never be able to look Dean in the face again, but Donna _really_ needs to know what all that fuss is about.

The man she knows is kind, warm, a little on the grouchy side, know-it-all and not afraid to show it, but he’s ultimately a good person. Donna’s intrigued as to what it is her superiors see when they look in his eyes.

All she sees is a guy trying to do the right thing for the world he inhabits.

Standing and grabbing the top of her towel, Donna reaches out and snatches her case from the floor. “Now or never Hanscum, now or never.”

Clutching the manilla folder to her chest, Donna sits back down and sighs. “Am I really - oh who am I kidding, of course I’m going to.”

Flicking open the file, Donna is met with a picture of a man roughly seven years younger than the one she knows; eyes full of defiance and sparkle, of knowing he’s doing the right things for the right reasons.

There’s no grey in that stare, it’s all black and white.

Dean’s mug-shot is, if she’s completely honest with herself - and who else is there to be honest with? - bloody gorgeous. No wonder he gets so much _action_.

Something tells Donna that younger Dean Winchester was a hellcat when it came to picking up girls and showing them a fine time.

Blushing at the thought, Donna wonders what it would be like to have those eyes roving across her naked body.

The Dean of now, the one who seems beaten down and a little broken, he’s not her type at all. Not because he’s not a stonking good looking guy or he doesn’t have _qualities_ , but because all Donna ever wants to do when she sees him is wrap him in the fiercest hug. That and feed him until he can’t stand up. Maybe a little head slap wouldn’t go amiss either.

It’s the same with Sam, although he comes with a healthy dose of wanting to braid his hair, just to see what he’d look like in pigtails.

Moving away from Dean’s Little Rock mug-shot, Donna flicks pages until she comes to his _Crimes and Misdemeanours_ list.

The jacket is thick and a little scary.

Grave Desecration.

Evading Capture.

Impersonating a Police Officer.

Grievous Bodily Harm.

Unlicensed Weapons Charges.

Driving Without Tags.

Murder.

_Murder?_

Oh, right, yeah. She remembers Jody filling her in on that.

Shape shifter. What the heck **is** a shape shifter?

The thought of some unknown demon borrowing her skin makes Donna shudder, forcing tiny little bumps to blossom across her exposed flesh.

For every listed charge Donna finds herself shaking her head harder and harder.

This isn’t Dean Winchester.

No wonder his name is spoken in hushed tones, but he’s not this man. _This_ man is a killer and a serial criminal.

The man she knows and admires is nothing like the one being painted in shades of darkness on pages with no real warmth or personality.

They don’t know him.

She does.

Donna has no control over her fingers as they flick backwards away from descriptions of death and mayhem. Settling on the page with his mug-shot, she tilts her head and sighs. “No question, you’re a stunning fella.”

Her face is hot; cheeks flushed with a sense of wanting she hasn’t felt in a very long time, and she’s inches away from snapping the folder shut and telling herself she’s a fool.

But…

There’s a part of her, a not so tiny part, that just wants to _feel_.

Strong hands and confidence.

Not smugness, no. Her ex had that in spades, but with it came a sense of never really being good enough for his ever expanding appetite.

Something tells Donna that the Dean of old, maybe even the Dean of now, knows how to make any woman he’s with feel like she’s the _only_ woman. Even if it’s a big fat lie.

The lies we tell ourselves when we need to hear them are much easier to swallow if there’s someone else willing to back them up.

Donna could lie to herself with Dean.

Feeling like she may explode if she doesn’t touch herself, Donna allows a hand to slip beneath the hem of her towel.

As she brings herself a little relief from a hard day, Donna is bombarded with images of Dean’s hands, those long capable fingers walking across her flesh, making her beg for more and wishing he’d never stop.

The flash of Sam’s face - kind and sweet and stoic - comes crashing into her fantasy and Donna finds herself being admired by two men who’d never look at her twice, but it’s _her_ fantasy, right? She can be worshipped by whoever the heck she pleases.

She brings herself off, finishes what her ex-husband never managed to, and is sucked into a moment of complete and utter weightlessness.

Allowing herself a minute to focus, Donna feels boneless, like she could be poured into a jug and left there to set.

Well, that was certainly interesting.

Yep, never gonna be able to look Dean, or Sam, in the face again.


End file.
